• It was past midnight, but the girl still couldn't sleep. She had known him for ten days and counting, had kissed him and was practically dating him, but she didn't know his name?
    "Then just ask him!" She said out loud, as if saying it would make up her mind. Instead, it made her more nervous. What if he felt insulted, or thought she was crazy? In the very least, they would go back to being friends instead of almost-dating. In a worst-case scenario, he might even stop talking to her. Her stomache turned as she thought of it. No, she couldn't ask him. Maybe she could have her friend talk to him, and have her ask for his name. Or maybe...
    Her thoughts where filled with plots and scenarios, and it was another two hours before she actually fell asleep. When she did, she had nightmares.
    She drempt of being surrounded by nameless figures hidden in a jungle of roses. They wispered in low voices, and she could almost make out what they where saying, but not quite. She tried to get closer to them, but cut herself on the rose thorns. Whenever her blood dript on a rose, it turned bloodred, and she was soon surrounded by bloody flowers and ominous, wispering voices...
    Her alarm-clock rang, making her jolt up and fall out of bed. Groaning, she untangled herself from her sheets and silenced her garfield clock. As she was rumaging through her closet for something to wear, she glanced at the rose. Before she went to bed, she had put it in a crystal vase and set it on her desk, clearing a spot amoung the hello kitty stuffed animals she collected. It still looked lovely, with not a sign of wilting. And (to her relief) it was still a deep, pure blue. She shuddered as she remembered the horrible dream, with voices all around her, close, yet still far away.
    Her thoughts where interrupted by her sister, who noisally banged on her door and hollared about breakfast. The girl finished getting dressed, and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and change her band-aid. After rumaging around (again) and finally finding the band-aid box, she peeled of her old band aid and stared at her thump in shock. Whereas yesterday she had a bloody gash, today the skin was smooth and unharmed. There wasn't even a scar, even though a cut like that shouldv'e left one.'How strange,' she thought 'it mustv'e been the antibiotics. Right?' But she didn't say it outloud, and even if she did, there was no one to confirm this anyways. All she could do was clear the counter and head down to breakfast.